you can stay with me forever
by ofjenesis
Summary: It's just a morning after a night of sex and Bucky takes the time to reflect upon love, a cat, wilting roses, and cold coffee.


When he wakes up, it's one of the first times in a while that he's glad to. It's not because of any other reasons besides the fact that he has the most beautiful redhead in the world curled up beside him. Sleeping next to her for more than 5 hours at a time is something both of them thought was a dream. Bucky should've listened to his ma when she was telling him those fairy tale cliches as a kid.

The simple fact that he's not obliged in any way to get out of bed and break the warm embrace they have means just about everything to him. He's never going to be able to forget the look of sadness and disappointment he saw every night when he climbed back out Natalia's window. It's something he can never forgive himself for, even though it wasn't his fault, necessarily. He can't exactly erase history, but he'll be spending the rest of his life making it up to her.

Natalia shifts slightly in her sleep, something she tends to do at least once every night, like she's blindly searching for something. Usually, and he knows this and allows the warm bubble of pride well inside him, when she's sure he's still beside her, she settles back down. God help him for feeling so proud of that little fact.

He tightens his arm around her, metal fingers curling into the ends of her red locks. That's another reason why he loves mornings - he can look at her in sleepy bliss and wonder how he managed to be lucky enough to be the one to hold her heart. What a sap he is, but he figures all those years in cryo should allow him to be a little soft-hearted.

Her face is calm, relaxed, and free of any sort of makeup she usually wears. It's easy to spot the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, like a small constellation surrounding his star. Her hair's a perfect, wild mess of red. Heart's own, he's head over damn heels.

Bucky drops a light kiss to the top of her head before letting out a quiet sigh. His eyes drift to the floor where there's a mess of clothes everywhere, a result of the previous night. Both pairs of pants are in a tangled pile near the doorway, her shirt is lumped into a ball and deposited about three feet from the pants. His smile grows just a bit when he sees her lacy bra hanging precariously off the end of the bed. He's doing a headcount in his mind for loads of laundry (and recounting their sex, no doubt) when he pauses, realizing his shirt isn't in any of the haphazard piles.

He turns his gaze back to her, and there it is - she's got his shirt on with the last three buttons undone which shows the dip of her cleavage. It's not hard to say that he loves her.

As much as he wants to savor the picturesque moment, he also wants coffee, and he's sure she'll want tea. So, he carefully gets out of bed, making sure to settle her back against the pillows without disrupting her.

Liho, who was asleep on the windowsill, jumps down and follows him downstairs to the kitchen. The cat hisses only once, and it's most likely deserved after shooing him out of the bedroom last night.

Bucky takes it all in stride though - he and Liho generally get along well, they both adore Natalia, after all.

He's making coffee, yawning and mourning the lack of a shirt in the chilly kitchen when he hears light footsteps. He can tell she's trying to sneak up on him, and maybe one day she'll be able to do it, but not today.

"Morning," he says, briefly abandoning his coffee mug to turn around.

She's a sight for sore eyes. The shirt reaches the tops of her thighs and when she walks, like how she steps towards him to snake her arms around his torso and give him a morning kiss, the shirt hikes up just a bit to show her lace underwear. She's got on the ridiculous fuzzy white socks too - the ones he got her as a joke but she started to love them anyways. They slip down her slim legs and pool around her ankles, where Liho's rubbing against them.

"Morning," Natasha echoes. Her head settles against his shoulder and she yawns.

The kiss tasted like mint toothpaste and coffee, a combination that he somehow finds endearing.

"Morning, sleepy head. You were dead to the world this morning," he says, wrapping his arms around her small frame. She's warm, soft around the edges in that sleepy morning way of hers.

"It's all your fault," she chides. Her voice is slightly muffled from her face half pressed against his bare chest. "What time did we get home last night? What time did we even sleep?"

Truth be told, he doesn't quite remember. When Natalia's pressed up against him, her mouth tasting like vodka and that look in her eyes, he's not exactly looking at the time. So, he shrugs in nonchalant answer. "Late?" he guesses, looking as debauched as possible. It doesn't work though, her smile is too infectious.

"Why do I ever keep you?" Natasha murmurs. Her eyes have drifted closed and he knows he's lucky to be the one to see her so relaxed.

He knows the question is a rhetorical one, but on bad days, sometimes he wonders why too. Usually, he can remember that they're both broken pieces of humans, slowly fixing each other into something new, and that's a connection they share. It's too full of weighted memories for a sleep morning like this one though, so he simply smiles and shakes his head. "No idea. You love me, I make good waffles. I sort your gentle clothes in the laundry. I buy you roses."

Said last bunch of roses are in a vase on the tiny kitchen table in the corner, wilting, because Natasha can't keep a plant alive if she tried. She keeps letting them wilt and die, he keeps buying them for her.

"Waffles?" It's the only part of the sentence that really registers, and her head pops up, almost colliding with his chin.

He laughs, drawing her in for another distinct morning kiss. "I get your hint. I'll deliver if you take laundry today."

Her nose scrunches up slightly, a debate running through her head, the type of concentration he sees when she's planning battle tactics. "Deal, but strawberries too."

Before he can protest, she slips out of his grasp, scooping Liho off the kitchen floor, and grabbing yesterday's newspaper off the counter. She disappears off into the bedroom, no doubt to get back underneath the covers.

God, he loves her.

He shakes his head slightly as he starts to make her breakfast. He's not mad though, he can spend an extra few minutes making an added gesture for her, because he knows that when he follows her into the bedroom, she'll be there waiting. There's no time limit on their love anymore.

When he finally remembers that there's a cup of coffee waiting for him on the counter, he grabs the mug and takes a sip out of it, only to find that it's gone cold. Again, he's not angry. Cold coffee is just a sign that he's pretty much in love with something other than a morning cup of coffee.


End file.
